In Arms of the God
by Eos Blaze 0402
Summary: Gods are supposed to be the pinnacle of creation but he is the contradiction to the statement. Countless secrets are etched invisibly on his skin, sin drips like nectar from those lips that weave web of lies. For a myth researcher, one Jane Foster, he is the ultimate myth, the creator of all legends.But what happens when myth collides with mortality and is left wanting for more?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

His lips are ghosts of sensation on my skin. They kiss, they suck, and they ignite me to this madness. My every resolution of this is the last time melts in puddle when those lips start to play the symphony of desire on my body.

Now I know why they call him god and his touches addictive. He is like cocaine, like finest brand of heroine that enslaves you at the very first whiff. Like a predator he lures you in his lair with passionate kisses and sweet nothings. To avoid him is futile, to resist him a folly because harder you try, harder you fall in his arms that promise you forever.

I have known these things, I can recite his many hundred names forwards and backwards in seconds and yet here I lie beneath him, arching, moaning in ecstasy. I have never known the likes of passion he ignites, I have never felt them in my whole small insignificant life and yet I try to fathom what made him the man or creature he is in this moment.

Now that I have tasted him, I know nothing tastes sweeter than the sin I drink from him. Maybe it's madness but I can relate to those women who sacrifice part of their souls to summon him. I can understand their need, their desire, and their transgression.

Even in the throes of this whirlwind he ignites, he never utters a word. Never shows what he feels inside and a part of me thinks that maybe beneath his beautiful exterior, he too is dead like me, a mere mortal. His eyes are deepest of greens I have ever seen and yet they don't remind me of forests. What happened to him? What made him like this? A statue perfectly beautiful on the outside and yet holding, hiding countless fractures within.

Now I see why women summon him. Forsake part of their humanity just to feel his embrace. But I am not like others. For I will never be the fool to fall in love with him. I know he is broken and I know I can't mend him.

I am Jane Foster, the myth researcher and he is Loki, the ultimate myth….

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**Review below and let me know what ya think of my first attempt at Lokane.**

**-Eos**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks a lot for the reviews, follows and favs. I don't own Lokane.**

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Chapter Two

Loki.

He stares at me with those poisonous green eyes as if to burn me alive but now, after two days of his constant glaring I am accustomed to the mood swings of God of Gloom and Doom. He refuses to talk, change his godly armor to put on some normal clothes or even eat the food I give him. I have to admit, he must be the most horrible among the house guests I ever had.

All he does is nothing, except for screwing me till I get tired and languorous from pleasure. And then he sits and stares out from my tiny window.

I am the one who does all the talking and sometimes the silence is so steep, it feels as if I am talking to myself.

I don't know why he came when I summoned him, he could have ignored me as he has ignored everyone. I constantly ask him the reason for his appearance out from the pages of myths, the answer I get is quietness jarred by his unnecessary breathing.

I have resigned from my post as the head researcher of the excavation team. Erik reminds me every time he calls that I have committed perhaps the biggest mistake of my life.

How should I tell him that I got the biggest prize and there is nothing of value that I could have found in the colds of Norway anyway?

As I wash my dishes in the sink I reflect upon what I have learnt about this man, which is precisely nothing. He is still sitting on my lumpy sofa, just staring fixedly on the wall, lost in his own thoughts.

I will admit that I am confused by this god. God whose misdeeds are like ink stains on the pages of Viking history. Sometimes when he thinks I am not watching, he drops that façade of indifference and the man that peeks from behind that mask breaks my heart.

So much sadness, such longing. What has he lost?

He is a god, isn't he? Then why can't he fashion the world in an image where he is happy and people don't take his name for their misdeeds.

I wonder why he can't.

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**Drop a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter. Stay tuned for the next installment.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the love you spared for my fic. For a new comer it means a lot. Thanks for the reviews, favs and follows, you guys made my day. Don't own Loki or Jane but I want to. :(**

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Chapter Three

From past couple of days, he has started to talk. Well, its mostly monosyllable answers, but still it's a vast improvement over his icy silence.

Loki.

I savor his name as I day dream about the godly perfection in my dingy trailer. The sharp clash of bones that form that haughty, beautiful aristocratic face, his pale skin that makes the emerald of his eyes glow green and that mouth. The mouth that has been star of my many X rated fantasies.

Every day when I go out for my work, a small part of my heart is scared, that when I come back he may be gone. After all, he is a god and I am an ordinary plain mortal woman. But every day when I open the door, he is sitting there on my lumpy couch, like a model in a fantasy themed costume, making my heart beats escalate in a moment.

Even though I have vowed, that I will never fall in love with him, sometimes when he looks at me with those curious emerald eyes, my heart stutters and misses few beats. I wonder what it would be like to fall in love with him, to fall in love with all that madness, passion, beauty and brutality.

If legends are true then someone has already known what's it like to love this god, to have him, to hold him and to cherish him. Someone has already tasted that passion, witnessed that beauty and borne the brunt of that brutality. That someone is known as Sigyn in the books of old, a nymph, a sylphlike beauty, a goddess who has been with Loki through thick and thin, through highs and lows.

So where is that Sigyn, I wonder? Does she even exist or is she another fabrication, another thread of lie attested with this god's name?

Sometimes when he sits silently and just stares at nothing in particular, I want to shake him and ask why you are like this. Where has all that power, that strength gone? Who are you, you who wears the face of a god, has strength of one and is still bound by the chains I can't see?

Are you Loki?

The Loki who is known as harbinger of Ragnarok? The Loki who is known as Silvertongue? If you are Loki then where is the spark of mischief in your eyes, where is your ingenuity? Where is that determination?

You are just hollow illusion of the perfection that once was. You are just a shade of what you used to be. I may not have seen you through millennia's, I may not have witnessed your deeds but I know you are not the god you once were.

My tired footsteps carry me towards my trailer. It's Friday and hopefully I will be able to get some much desired sleep that has been eluding me because of the work. My hands tremble when I take out my key, the insecurity is back again. I wait for few moments, desperately wishing that when I open this door I find everything as I left, including you.

The sound of turning lock is sharp in an almost quiet night, when the door opens I know something is different. The inside smells like roses and lavender and everything is at its proper place except for one.

You are missing from this scenario and my heart thuds painfully. Are you really gone?

But the sound of oncoming footsteps alerts me of a presence and from the guest room you emerge, clad in skinny black jeans, buttoning your white shirt. You have left your hair to hang freely and they curl. I never thought that God of Gloom and Doom would have curls. You look like a runway model stepping straight off from your GQ shoot.

Why in the bloody hell are you so beautiful?

I don't realize my mouth is hanging open until your fingers trace my jaw and your velvety sinful voice falls in my ear.

'It's rude to stare Miss Foster. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?'

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**This chapter is a tribute for Tom Hiddleston's white shirt of sex, the shirt that makes a Hiddlestoner out of you. So what are your Loki/Tom Hiddleston fantasies? Review below and let me know. Till then stay safe, ogle Tom and stay tuned for the next chapter of 'In arms of the god'.**

**-Eos**


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